


Misheberach

by justalittlegreen



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Catholicism, Francis and Sidney are Good Friends, Francis and Sidney are Good Men, Friendship, Gen, Judaism, Philosophy, Prayer, Religion, S1E8, Se1Ep8, hassidic jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/pseuds/justalittlegreen
Summary: How Father Mulcahy learned the prayer he recites in S1E8.





	Misheberach

**Author's Note:**

  * For [proserpina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/proserpina/gifts).

"Hawkeye," Mulcahy said quietly. "Do you want to say a prayer with me?"

Hawkeye shook his head. "I leave that to the professionals, Father," he said, waving it off. 

"It doesn't have to go by the official script," the priest answered, closing the bible around his thumb and tapping it against his chin. "Some of the best prayers are the most simple."

Hawkeye sighed and dropped his head in his hands, then reached over to take the boy's wrist, feeling for a pulse. Fourth time in as many minutes. Still far too low for his liking. "It's just hard to appeal to something you're not sure exists," he said.

"You don't have to be."

Francis and Hawkeye looked up to find Sidney had come into the room. He leaned over the bar at the end of the patient's cot, chin resting on his hands. 

"Oh, Dr. Freedman," Mulcahy said, his voice lifting. "I'm so glad you're here. Private Schwartz could probably use something a little different than my standard offerings. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Sidney replied. He closed his eyes for a moment and then began reciting a long litany of Hebrew. Hawkeye didn't know what to do, so he bowed his head. Francis did the same.

"Amen," Sidney finished. 

"Amen," Hawkeye and Francis chorused. 

"Do you think you could teach me that later? It'd be good to have when the Jewish soldiers come through," Francis said. Sidney nodded.

"Sidney?"

"Hawkeye?"

"What did that all mean?"

"Well," Sidney said, looking at the ceiling, as if it might hold a translation, "I'm not entirely sure. My Hebrew was never all that good. But there's something to be said for having something to say in the moment something needs to be said."

"But...how do you know?"

"How do I know what?"

Hawkeye gestured aimlessly. "How do you know if it's heard?"

"Hawkeye," Sidney said in the voice that always proceeded a quip or a revelation, "It's not about who hears. I don't know if anyone's listening. What I do know is that knowing the words allows me to fill in the places where there's nothing else to say. Someone's dead, there's a prayer for that. Someone's sick, there's a prayer. Someone survives a life-threatening experience? One for that, too."

"And if someone eats a ham sandwich?" Hawkeye joked.

"Well, according to our rules, that schmuck doesn't have a prayer," Sid shot back with a smile. "Look, the words are simple and formal and have nothing to do with how anyone feels in these moments. They're not meant to be. Hell, the prayer for mourners doesn't even mention death. They're just there when you need them. When there's nothing else to be done."

Hawkeye nodded, and reached for the patient's pulse again. He felt Father Mulcahy's hand on his back as the priest stood up. "Try to get some rest, Hawkeye," he urged, unwrapping the thin purple stole from around his neck. "Sidney, would you be willing to get coffee and teach me that prayer?"

"My pleasure," Sidney said. He shot Hawkeye a glance as he turned to go. "I'll come back in a little bit." Hawkeye acted like he hadn't heard him, stethoscope in his ears again. 

He and Francis fell into step as they crossed from the OR toward the mess tent. 

"Father," Sidney said after a moment, "I hope you don't think I was insulting your line of work back there."

"Everyone has their own relationship to prayer, Doctor," Francis replied evenly. "I don't think it was particularly disrespectful."

"It wasn't meant to be," Sidney said hastily. "My father used to tell me a joke. Would you like to hear it?"

"I'm always up for a good laugh."

"Let me see if I can tell it right....okay. The young man goes off to college and comes home his first winter. He tells his father, 'Dad, I've been to university and I've studied philosophy and psychology and I don't believe in Gd anymore.' And the father nods and says nothing. The next morning, he comes in early to wake his son to go say the morning prayers at synagogue. 'Wake up, son. It's Shabbes, we go to shul.' 'But Dad,' the boy says, 'I told you I studied all these things and I don't believe in Gd anymore.' The father shrugs. 'Gd, schmod,' he says. 'Who says anything about Gd? On Shabbes we go to shul!"

Francis chuckled. "I can see how that must've resonated."

"It got me through my fair share of Saturdays when I'd have much rather been playing stickball," Sidney admitted. "I had to go to synagogue and not only learn to read Hebrew and to chant the prayers, but how to lead a congregation as well. My Bar Mitzvah wasn't just about a performance of a single passage - in my tradition, the poor kid has to lead the entire service, even calling out the page numbers."

"That's a lot of responsibility," Francis mused as they filled their coffee cups.

"Well, it certainly brought the gravity of manhood to a thirteen-year-old. Shortly after my Bar Mitzvah, my grandfather died. When ten men were needed to form a quorum for prayer, I wasn't just part of the group - I led the praying. When it came time for the silent prayers, the other men in the circle flipped through the pages faster than I could read. I just looked down at the words and watched them swirl in front of me. I felt lost. But then my father nudged me."

"What did he want?"

"He wanted me to keep going. It didn't matter that I'd only read a fraction of the prayers. We had to move on. I called out the page, and slipped into the next prayer. By the time I finished,the words had gone still again. I could read. I felt much more secure."

"That sounds like a very powerful ritual."

"That prayer I told Hawkeye about? The mourner's prayer? It's an affirmation of life. A litany, a list of exultation of the Holy One. It's the least intuitive thing in the world - no one wants to tell a new mourner to express gratitude for the divine. And yet, those words are some of the first I ever learned. I watched them carry my father through his father's death, knowing that some day they'll carry me through his."

"That's very beautifully put."

"Jews are poets about death."

"I suppose so."

"Tell me, Francis. You know someone hears you when you pray, yes?"

"I think I have to. It feels far too lonely otherwise. Lonely and pointless. Catholics don't have quorums when they pray."

A useful convention, I admit, though sometimes inconvenient. Do you want to learn that prayer?"

"Yes. Perhaps you could write down how it's pronounced in English as we go through it. I'm afraid I don't have thirteen years to learn it by rote."

"Don't worry, Father. I'm pretty sure Gd approves of shortcuts."

Francis pulled his Bible out of his pocket and turned it to the endpapers. He held out a pencil and the book to Sidney, who raised an eyebrow. "In your Bible?"

Francis shrugged. "Where else?"

"Well," Sidney said, eyebrows raised as he looked down to start writing, "I suppose I'm honored. I'd return the offer, but I'm afraid the only Jewish text I've got on me is my dog tags."

Francis's smile was as good as a laugh. He moved around the table next to Sidney and bent his head over the book as Sid began to write.


End file.
